Page 66 of The Front Runner
A quiet chuckle filters into my awareness. “All that scolding about language, and you talk like this as soon as the clothes come off.”
I smile against her collarbone and nip at her soft skin again. “You love it. And Mira?”
“Yeah?” she breathes, impatiently writhing against me.
I pull up, catching her gaze again, feeling the bite of the hardwood against my knees and the squeeze of her thighs around my waist, those hot-as-fuck spiky heels scratching at my back. “You feel like this is how it’s supposed to be, too.”
She nods and rolls her lips together, but that movement blends into the shaking of her body as I thrust in hard. I rest one elbow by her head so I can watch her face while I drive into her. My other hand finds her clit and circles.
“Oh god,” she cries out as I press down and continue with slow, hard strokes. Her pussy flutters around me. Soon, her legs shake, she’s close.
Her legs clench, keeping me close, and I throw one leg up over my shoulder, needing to feel her deeper. My hand wraps around her ankle, brushing against the cuff of her stiletto. I turn my head and press a kiss to the delicate bone there. “I knew these would look good propped up on my shoulders.”
Her top teeth bite down into her pillowy bottom lip as I slam into her, making her tits bounce with the force of it.
“Good girl, Mira. Come on my cock now.” I give her clit one firm squeeze and she tenses, rearing up beneath me before dissolving into a tangle of trembling limbs and incoherent words. I can make out ‘holy fuck’ and ‘so good,’ and it makes me smile as I brace myself above her and chase my own release.
Her hips move to meet mine even as she mewls and goes soft beneath me.
She’s so wet, and so warm, and I tell her as much. “You feel like heaven,” I say as I slide into her body one last time.
And then it hits, and I drop my head onto her heaving chest as I spill inside her.
We’re both sweaty and breathless as her hands circle around the back of my head to hold me close.
“Is sex always like that for you?” she pants out, awe bleeding into her voice.
And because I pride myself on being honest, I tell her the truth.
“No. It’s never been like that. Not even fucking close.”
23
Mira
Sore and guilty.That’s what I am.
My entire body aches in the best way. I’ve always seen that on shows or read it in smutty books—someone talking about being sore from having their brains fucked out all night. I thought it was fiction.
It is not fiction.
Stefan lies beside me in his spacious king-sized bed looking exhausted after taking me over and over again until we ran out of condoms. Being a sex expert must be exhausting. The man is a fucking god. I’m a girl who lives inside animal science textbooks and peer-reviewed papers and uses a big purple dildo when the fancy strikes because I honestly don’t think about sex that often.
Until him. Until his whispered words and searing glances. Now all I can think about is sex. This is a disease a condom can’t save me from.
Obsession.
My eyes flit over his face. His cheekbones and defined nose. His dark dirty blond hair all disheveled from where my hands spent hours hanging on for dear life. His lips swollen from me latching on to his face like a goddamn succubus. Or maybe they’re swollen from the words that spill from them.
The man has a filthy mouth. His accent gets stronger, more sensual, when his walls come down. I’m pretty sure he could talk me into an orgasm if he tried, if he looked at me in the special way he does. Yeah, I’m almost positive I could orgasm on the spot from that alone.
Maybe if he played with my nipples, too. The way he rolls them. I had no idea he’d besointo my tits, or that covering up the way I do would drive him crazy the way he confessed to me last night.
He sighs and pulls me into his chest. Nothing about Stefan is simply what meets the eye. He’s complicated and fascinating, and God, he’s really not boring. He’s beautiful—I’ve always thought so. The accent, the smirk, the mysterious background. Nobody prepared me for the fact he’d be equally alluring and beautiful on the inside.
He’s addictive.
I snuggle in close, the smell of his mint soap from the shower last night wrapping around us as I try to escape the sense of looming guilt closing in on me since last night. Not guilt for sleeping with him. I truly cannot bring myself to feel bad about that. Though I’m not looking forward to everyone inevitably finding out. That’s probably something I’ll put off for a while yet. I need to wait and see where this goes.
